Lumen and running had a hate hate relationship... but Lumen's hate hate relationship with bad guys usually took the top of that totem poll. On this particularly wet and cold December day the "bad guys" almost fell a notch 'til Lumen made her coffee. She'd spent 20 minutes or so stretching in the hotel room before changing into sweats and 'fast-walking' her way to central park forgetting her ipod on the night stand.

She wasn't sure if she liked New York yet . It was dirty the way some of the cities back home were and the people weren't cheerful at all. She'd ventured into an "Irish" Pub one of the first nights she stayed at the hotel only to be disappointed. Apparently to Americans Irish meant: make everything green and post a couple leprechauns. But beyond that little offence she hadn't made her mind up yet. The way the news made it look she half expected to be running into mutants with visible mutations around every corner but to her knowledge she hadn't met a single one.

The work was coming in decent enough. A few adulterer stings, a money laundering scheme, and a shady business man kept her busy enough to bank a little living expenses but free enough to research some of the area. She was hoping to be able to afford an apartment in the new year. The practical part of her wondered about getting a room mate but whose to say she wouldn't end up with a fellow mutie. That was the last thing she wanted.

These were the thoughts running through her head when her feet started matching up. She started with a slow steady pace- it was cold and wet and she needed to generate some body heat. The old fashioned way. Without the glow show. Where will I get my apartment and should I take that other angry wife job filled her head so she wouldn't have to think about the missing children. They were the whole reason she came to NYC and of course, the whole reason they mattered was Rouri. But this morning wasn't about Rouri, this morning was about running and running sucked!

Lumen hated running but hated bad guys more. More times than she could count she'd only narrowly escaped trouble by being able to run. She wondered why if there was a God up there he gave her the ability to glow and not the ability to run without having to drag her butt out of bed every morning. Running was hard, running made you tired, running made you sore, and it was difficult to know when you were making any progress. But she did it any way, because a fast Lumen was a safe Lumen. That was her personal mantra.

She broke into her full on run after a good 10 minutes of building pace The wintery sun was finally rising - not that it made much of a difference in the heat. Her breath still came out into little clouds and without the ipod headphones to keep her distracted she found herself overly aware of her breathing. She counted her breaths, counted the heart beats, counted the people joining her in their own morning runs, jogs, or dog walking routines.

While most people stayed in their own bubble Lumen was always aware. It paid to be aware just like it paid to be fast. She kept up her pace taking note of every person she dashed by while taking in the scenery. It really was nice to have a patch of green in a hard city like this.

Running. Maxine and running had a love-ice cream relationship. It was necessary, even symbiotic: she ran, therefore she could eat ice cream. Cookie dough and cookies and cream, Reese's and moose tracks, Snickers bars and Neapolitan ice cream sandwiches (strawberry side first); if she was feeling especially catty, maybe she'd even mix in gummi bears, or find a shop in town that didn't bat an eye at doing it for her.

She ate ice cream when she failed that Bio test in high school. She ate ice cream when she graduated college, with her official degree in BS. She ate ice cream when it was that time of the month and when it wasn't, when she got new fan mail and new death threats and a cute cop sent to watch outside her apartment for three days after she'd publically humiliated the NYPD's most wanted bow-wearer. She ate ice cream when she was miserable and dateless and sitting in her ugliest sweat pants and her frumpiest shirt and watching the Nature channel wondering why she couldn't just reproduce asexually like any sensible amoeba.

She ate ice cream, therefore: she had to run. Every morning, since she was thirteen.

Besides, it wasn't like her powers let her sleep in late. Five o'clock every morning, weekends and holidays: octoclip to the face. Cold metal tentacles ruining her bed hair before she'd even had a chance to appreciate it.

Said tentacles were currently draped over her head, toying with the fuzzy balls that dangled from her new hat, making them wiggle up and down like wings. She turned onto a side path, a yawn cracking her lips.

There was someone directly in front of her. A woman, about her age. Taller than she was, the show off. Nicer hair in the morning, newer running shoes, and no paperclip octopi crawling all over her cranium. And she was going that awkward, just-a-hair-slower-than-you pace; the one that meant Maxine would either have to slow her own pace down, or put on a burst of speed to get around the human obstacle in her path.

Maxine didn't slow for blondes.

With a smooth lengthening of her stride, she drew even with the woman, fully intent on blowing past her in that way that all joggers loathed: the Gingerman breeze by.

Run run as fast as you can,
You ain't even half as in shape as I am.

ooc: that was an epic post.

IC:

Lumen was falling into a good pace now. And by good we're talking only sorta hurts in the calves, hips, and lungs. She'd determined that running led her through a variety of 'walls'. The first one was the achey joints and burney lungs wall. If she continued this pace for a good 10-15 minutes then pushed through for a little faster or took on a hill the extra adrenaline would even those things out.

Of course, if you get adrenaline, you get a crash too. Which generally happened 5-7 minutes later. She'd been training to make that adrenaline period at least an even 10 but typically when escaping from dangerous suspects 5-7 minutes would suffice.

After the crash she'd hit the 'ohmygodwhydoesitallhurtsobad' wall where every trot made all the muscles in her body burn and if she stopped suddenly without warming down not only would she pull many of those muscles she'd be incredibly out of breath for an extended period of time. So naturally, the 'ohmygodwhydoesitallhurtsobad' wall needed to be broken through -preferably with the latest Nike's the clerk swore would improve her form.

If she was feeling particularly gutsy she'd blow through that wall and stick to the disoriented phase that came after. Some days she could handle that for a good extra 10 minutes before slowing down and warming down to a gentle stride. If she could do it her body would go through less of the after-adrenaline shock but she always felt her senses a little dulled. Lumen didn't like having dull senses- no more than she enjoyed dull pencils! (and having a good sharp pencil at hand was always important to a PI) It made her less aware of the people around her and more vulnerable to attack. Your average jogger or runner wasn't usually thinking about getting attacked while running- you'd have to be a gutsy thief to chase after someone who's all ready got a head start. But the average person was not as paranoid as Lumen.

And paranoid she was. She always encountered these moments. The moments where she's still calmly running about 'surveying' the 'adrenaline wall' when another runner gets too close. Of course, she couldn't just turn around and look behind her while running. Sometimes she'd simply stop but depending on what phase she was in of her running routine it would throw in a serious monkey wrench. Today, she was determined to break through all the walls so stopping was not an option.

Wrist watch. She still wore one. Laugh if you would but she didn't like relying on phones for every detail of her life. Currently her wrist watch was telling her she still had more than enough time to make the usual routine worthwhile if she kicked it into adrenaline gear a little early. So long as she could afford a longer warm down she'd still be energetic for tonight's investigation.

So with the paranoia of a person walking down a dark deserted ally at night by herself Lumen picked up the pace. She couldn't see the person behind her but part of her just knew they were there. Running behind. Staring at the back of her head no doubt. Lumen tried to aim for the right side of the running path in case the person would pass. Every time she did that she was reminded of this one woman trying to pass her (or so she thought) who kept saying "Excuse me". Lumen moved further and further right and still the woman would keep saying it until finally Lumen interrupted her whole routine to stop and take our her headphones and ask the woman what her problem was! Well the woman was not a runner, but had been running to try and give Lumen her ID that had fallen out of her back pocket.

Lumen didn't think this person was returning something she dropped. The sound of their sneakers was too evenly paced. This person was a runner, and they were really close behind. She picked up the pace despite the protesting of her calves.

((ooc: Tell me if I need to edit the pants description at all!))

Oh. So they were going to play that game, were they?

It was on, blondey.

Maxine deepened her breathing, lengthening her stride by easy increments. The blonde had potential to win out there—she was taller, her legs longer, her calves absolutely hugged by those running pants. Seriously, where did that woman shop? Big, Tall, and Ready for Photoshoots Before Sunrise? Maxine didn't take kindly to feeling scrubby next to other women. Even if she was wearing scrubs. They were jogging. More than that: they were jogging on the morning shift. Wasn't it unspoken girltiquette to leave the competition until after breakfast? Not that the pants were that flashy... just... Aggh. Long-legged blondes made it look so easy.

And Maxine made this look easy.

With an extra burst of speed, she drew alongside the woman. Alongside, and a little ahead. She couldn't help it: she glanced over at the competition. Glanced at her, and gave a tight little smile.

"Good morning," she said, making sure the words came out nice and level. Because a girl who can talk while running still has plenty of speed left in her.

On her head, Octosaurus Rex writhed in the wind, raising the hat's fuzzy tassels high up like TV antennae. Improving the reception of blonde's defeat since 2011.

Ooc: Pants are fine, let me know if my accent mention doesn't fly

IC:

Lumen found herself counting the foot steps she heard behind in lieu of excellent ipod music and she was frustrated that a burst in speed made her lose count and focus. Her chest was starting to burn as her lungs protested to her own increased pace and before she knew it she was neck and neck with a woman almost her height.

Lumen was trying to scope her out with her peripheral vision when the women said good morning. There was a tiny tinge of a familiar accent so Lumen wasnt at all surprised when she turned and saw a brief flash of red under a hat- and then something else? The woman was wearing the strangest hat she'd ever glanced. Certainly inspired by Lady Gaga. Girls were weird. Always being on the move Lumen never found time for too many unnecessary accents. Instead she preferred a batman-esq utility belt.

Today that utility belt was hanging on to little circular canteens of water and a heart-rate monitor. It added an extra bit of weight and was refreshing when she finished. Sometimes drinking enough water kept the headaches at bay too but looking at this woman's hat- again stealing another glance- she wasn't sure if she'd fight it off.

What does one say to a stranger who says good morning and then suddenly takes the lead? Lumen didn't enjoy striking up conversations with American strangers but back home in Ireland if someone said hello you greeted them as well and added a how do you do in there too. Back at home people didn't usually say good morning and run past you though.

Despite the burning lungs and aching calves Lumen took a mental moment to center herself and then kicked it into high gear to break through that adrenaline wall. The woman had a lead on her but was still somewhat parallel. Lumen couldn't see much relying more on her peripheral vision instead of turning her head. If she wasnt careful at this stage of the game she was liable to trip over her own feet. Now that would make an impression.

Finally the euphoria of adrenaline hit and Lumen was able to catch up and match the woman stride for stride. Still managing to glance to her left while mainly focusing ahead she smiled. "You're in better form then me. You must do this everyday." Sure, she could talk and run at the same time. For the next 5-7 minutes...

Maxine thought of them as professional runners. Like professional bikers—the ones that went peddling past on bikes with ergonomic handlebars, in skin-tight black-and-neon clothes, wearing aerodynamic helmets and wrap-around sunglasses. That type. Runners had their own parallel. The uniform wasn't quite as codified, but there were some common signs, if a girl new what to look for.

Specially marketed jogger's utility belt, available at your local sporting goods store? Check.

Carried their own water supply? Reverse osmosis in sleek aluminum water bottles on the high end, plastic bottles of spring water on the low? Check and check again; the blonde had more than one. A regular camel, she was. (Camels—they were blonde and leggy, too.)

Jogged compulsively everyday for a week—sometimes more than once a day—then disappeared again until after the next Turkey Straight-to-Thighs Day or New Doomed Resolution Year? Survey results were still out on that one, but this was the first time Maxine had crossed paths with this gal, and it was suspiciously soon after a certain holiday.

Honestly, she was surprised the woman didn't have one of those little ipods strapped to her arm, too.

For herself, Maxine was completely proud of her ratty, worn-every-day scrub pants and old-boyfriend-theft hoodie. Her little fanny pack with its camera, pepper spray, and apartment keys was a purely practical accessory. She didn't carry water—she wasn't too good to drink from the fountains that littered every park in New York City. Not like the professional runner, here.

And what was this? A pleasant conversation?

The redhead could play that game, too. "Oh, now and again," she answered with cheerful modesty. "You're not so bad yourself," camel woman,. "When did you start?" Yesterday?

Something professional runners just didn't get: running wasn't about had work and breaking past walls. It was about doing that so regularly you made it look easy.

She felt a sudden cold wind on the back of her neck: Rex had grabbed her ponytail, and was braiding it together with the hat's tassel strings on top of her head. ...There was no easy-looking way to stop him mid-stride, so she just smiled the pleasant smile of a woman who didn't want to kill her mutation, and pulled just a little bit further ahead.

Lumen had just gotten herself back into a rhythmic stride when the red haired woman replied that she'd been running now and again. What kind of answer was that?

"The news!" she blurted "That's where I saw you, that little segment, only saw it twice though." She'd spent the whole time the red-head was speaking trying to place her. Lumen didn't have a photographic memory or anything but she was good at finding people and it was easier for her than most to call up someone's face in her own mind.

Her run wavered a bit as she tried to regain focus and process what the woman had said. Nothing was hurting now thanks to the adrenaline, but it could seriously mess up your sense of time. She was starting to fall back. With her brows knitted into a tight focus she gave another shove to get herself near parallel with the woman again. "I try to run every day..." she said struggling to keep her breath and her accent in check. The truth was, she ran an awful lot at night with an awful lack of focus and an awful lot of get me the heck outta here. "I dont remember when I started, first time in Central Park though. Not as green as I thought it be." The Irish accent leaked out on that one. (she tried to keep it in check since many Americans weren't too fond of hiring immigrants in her field)

With the stark contrast of her companions red hair the grass suddenly looked a lot greener. And something else looked different- mainly the hat. It was moving. At least, she thought it was. It was hard to get a good glance at it while keeping an eye out for the other joggers and runners who were starting to pour out onto the running trail.

Oh yeah and that whole adrenaline wall was fading. The post adrenaline wall was coming up fast and she could feel herself getting a little light headed. She was determined not to lose the woman though. If she was the woman from the news it might benefit Lumen to know her. Maybe somewhere down the road they could exchange information- it had worked well for a reporter she knew back home. Or maybe the woman would have some inside knowledge about the missing children. Not that Lumen was very interested in breaching that subject so early in the morning. Today her stubborn need to know everything was winning out over her stubborn paranoia.

She stole a glance and tried to smile to her left when she saw the hat thing- which she could now see was metal- braiding itself into the woman's hair? Was that right? She blinked and stared for a moment not realizing how close her feet were getting to the grass while the trail bent a bit. She stumbled but caught herself without missing a beat hoping the woman didn't notice, but knowing she probably did. "Wot have yea got on yer head?" she finally asked with a curious (yet cautious) expression and no more effort to hide her accent.

>> "The news!"

This redeemed the woman.

>> "That's where I saw you, that little segment, only saw it twice though."

This did not. Little? Twice? It doubly did not.

"I know it's not much now," the redhead modestly replied. "I'm still working at breaking into prime time." And still working at breaking your pace. Feeling tired yet, blondey? Is the adrenaline wearing off? Are you starting to stumble off the path?

She kept her snerk on the inside. "Are you all right?" She asked, with all the concern in the world. With all the lack of concern, she reached up and grabbed one of Rex's tentacles. The tentacle grabbed back, looping itself around her fingers. "Oh, this? This is just Rex. You must have seen him on my show." Or you would have, if you'd watched more than twice.

"You're not from around here, are you? What brings you to the Big Apple?" She even impressed herself with how polite and interested the question came out. Was she good, or what? With a rush of sudden benevolence, she even trimmed back her pace a hair.

"Rex?" Lumen felt the colour drain from her face for a moment. Rex seemed to be some sort of intelligent thing all on his own. She'd heard of robot pets- but this was pushing it a little more than Lumen was willing to accept. What the heck was he made out of? She had a feeling there weren't batteries or a remote control involved. Her eyes darter back to the woman as she took her in fully for once. Her pace was steady and as long as she didn't stop to look down at her feet she didn't think she'd trip. Yes. She really was the woman from the news- but why hadn't Lumen noticed Rex before? Probably because she always had the TV on in the background...

"I don't think I noticed Rex before." she admitted trying to save a little face. "I'm a bit of a multi-tasker" she trudged onward starting to feel a little winded, a little light headed, and a little achey for some time alone. You know. Away from insanely fit red heads and their octopi pets.

"I'm from Ireland." she answered coolly turning her face back to the front concentrating on her breathing. That annoying little burning sensation was starting in the centre of her throat. The one that let her know the adrenaline phase was winding down and she was about to find it hard to breathe. She forced a grin. If this woman was in the news she might have some knowledge of the events around the MIA kids. Reporters often got to hits and leads well before the authorities. Back home she had many reporter friends who helped tip her off. "I'm working with the NYPD for the missing kids cases."

The woman seemed to slow her pace down just a tad and Lumen mentally shouted Hallelujah! She slowed her own and the burning in her throat subsided a little. "Do you find much of that story coming through your office? I see a lot in the paper but I haven't been here long enough to catch any news segments" Lumen was still trying to gauge just how much the public knew. The police would sometimes issue a press ban on these things to prevent hysteria and also protect the privacy of minors. But people knew something was up, especially with so many going missing.

Whether it was the woman's mention of working with the police or how satisfyingly charming she looked with a few shades knocked off her face, the result was the same: Maxine slowed down to a normal pace. Just a hair slower, and it wouldn't even be called competitive.

"Oh, are you consulting? On what? " She asked, her freckled face full of friendly, professional curiosity. "I've been hearing quite a bit about it—parents contacting me, asking for a segment on their child, you know." It was a vague enough answer to say nothing the woman couldn't already guess, but specific enough to answer the question. How much did the Irish multi-tasker know? How much information was she trusted with? Maxine had a good relationship with the NYPD, but it wasn't as close as she'd prefer.

Camels really were useful animals, if you could get them saddled.

She couldn't resist one last sweet-voiced dig, though. "Do mutants make you uncomfortable? I'm so sorry. That must make working with the MRC department rather nerve-wracking." Insert sweet, understanding smile here.

The woman slowed her pace a little more and Lumen knew she was beat. She slowed her own down to meet hers and felt her body relax a bit. Lumen was more in a warm down phase now- this was nice, this was easy. But having a conversation running was never ideal. Lumen didn't like being occupied with many tasks at once when she really needed to focus on receiving information.

"The poor parents must be feeling pretty desperate. If they're calling you- and I've seen canvassing around too." Her tone was serious, her expression hard. Lumen didn't know very much about it yet. Only what was public information. "I'm meeting with one of the detectives this week. Cervantes. I... hope I can help." she said those last 4 words dripping with intensity. She meant them. She'd rather stop hoping though, and start knowing she was going to be able to help.

The woman asked her next if mutants made her nervous. Well, miss red haired speedy runner Im akin to a kid being afraid of their own shadow. That probably wouldn't go over in her favour. She shook her head. "I just come from a place that seems a lot more segregated than here. A lot of hate crimes going on. If there is a mutant involved with the missing children I can't imagine that's a good thing for mutants or humans..." she stopped talking and running.

With one hand she grabbed one of her water bottles, with the other she flipped open the phone to take a quick check for messages. By the time she'd downed the water the phone was back in place. "I'm Lumen." she said holding out her hand and a business card. A clean crisp nothing but her name, email, and phone number on it business card. Lumen wasn't too creative that way. "I'm sure you'd probably rush to the police if you had any information to give on the case, but if you think or come across anything that might be helpful I'd love to chat."

Now, what was her name? She'd heard it on the news before. Did she introduce herself? Lumen couldn't remember and hoped it didn't show on her face. Justine... Maybeline... Cintrine... was this getting a little obscene?

"Oh, I don't know," the redhead said casually. "I'm sure they're desperate, yes, but I like to think of it more as a reflection of my place in the community." Rather than as an implication that people would only contact her when they were desperate. She didn't know quite why that rubbed her the wrong way, but it did. She'd spoken out for the Americans who went missing in Romania, hadn't she? She reported weekly on the local mutant-human interactions, didn't she? Why wouldn't parents turn to her? Especially when the missing kids seemed to be mostly mutants. Really, she worried about all the ones that were going unreported, because of that—not every parent would care if their mutant child disappeared. Some would consider it awfully convenient. Hmm... Note to self: look into runaway statistics in mutants v. human children. That could make for an interesting segment.

And there the woman went, just assuming that a mutant was involved in the crime, outside of being the victim.

>> "I just come from a place that seems a lot more segregated than here..."

"I'm sure you'll get used to things," Maxine said, with the most understanding smile imaginable. You are going to get eaten alive, blondey.

Maxine accepted the business card. Not to be outdone, she reached into her fanny pack, and pulled out one of her own.

Maxine Ralls
Wolf News

Send office supply invoices to...

She always carried cards: it was the only way she could avoid being prosecuted for shop lifting every time her power caused a flock of stock to fly out a shop's doors in her wake.

"What capacity are you consulting in, Lumen?" She asked, as a pen wiggled out of the fanny pack's open zipper, and flew up to her waiting hand. She held it poised over the card, clearly ready to add in the occupation line that was so blatantly missing from the woman's information.